


The Monkees first Christmas

by Tommyboy



Category: The Monkees
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyboy/pseuds/Tommyboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2001, for a yahoo group StoryBookMonkees.  Revisiting my archived stories on my computer.</p><p>In allowance that they are touring this summer for the 45th anniversary.</p><p>Bear in mind, it's fic that posted over 10 years ago.  But it's a nice story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monkees first Christmas

Monkees First Christmas

 

The antiquated alarm woke Mike with its obnoxious ringing bells. Mike quickly slapped it off so not to disrupt his roommate’s slept. It was Monday and it was his job to call around to see if he could arrange bookings for the band. It was the holiday season so parties were being planned and people loved having a live band. He had been lucky so far and gotten six gigs booked.

Mike gave a heavy sigh; he would love to go back to sleep, but he had things to do, so he got up. First there was a need of a shower and he headed for the bathroom. The warm water woke him up giving him a better outlook for the day.

Mike sat on the edge of his bed and dressed quietly so not to wake his roommate. Micky was curled up with his pillow in his arms. Mike gave a half smile to his curly haired friend. That meant he had a good dream for the night. He had learned after the first few months in judging in what type of dreams Micky had by his reaction with the pillow. The pillow was a girl of his dreams. Mike finished buttoning his shirt and tucking it in, deciding at least Micky was going to be in a good mood that day. He left the room quietly, picking up his boots, and heading downstairs to the main floor of the pad.

He quietly reflected that he hadn’t said very much to his roommates over the Thanksgiving weekend. They had dinner at Micky’s Mother’s house along with his sisters and boyfriends, but he had kept his distance from everyone.

Thanksgiving was the beginning of the holidays, a time that everyone tried to spread warm cheer. Mike tended to keep a low profile during this time of year. It was a time he could not find many happy memories. Things were always hard for his family and the holidays had just made it even harder.

Mike sat down on the couch to slip on his boots. He looked around the living room, setting his sight on four large boxes marked Christmas decorations that sat in the middle of the floor. Micky’s Mother had sent them back with them. Mike shook his head. He hadn’t decorated anyplace for Christmas since he was five, he didn’t even know how.

With that thought in mind Mike headed toward the kitchen to start the coffee and figure out what agencies he was going to call to for more party dates.

 

Later that morning . . .

Micky was pulling decorations out of the boxes: garland, fringe, lights and other Christmassy items. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” he bellowed like a happy kid opening gifts.

Mike watched from the window seat where he sat with his guitar, trying to work on a song that he had been trying to capture for a week. He couldn’t concentrate with the racket Micky was making. Micky had come out of their room, sliding down the stairs and headed straight toward the boxes.

“Micky can you tone it down?”

“No way, man,” he told Mike with a cheerful smile, “This is the second best thing about Christmas.”

“What’s the first best thing?”

“Presents, silly,” Micky answered him.

Micky started singing another Christmas songs while he went back to unpacking the boxes.

Mike couldn’t find the joy in himself that Micky seemed to posses for the holiday. He got up, putting his guitar down on its stand. “I’m going for a walk Mick.”

Micky gave a “sure,” and continued unpacking the boxes to see what his mother had given them.

** ** **  
Mike made his way down the steps and onto the beach for a walk along the water. He sighed with his thoughts. ‘Things should be okay,’ he thought to himself. There was no real hardship here. They had gigs lined up to play for a few weeks because of the holidays. They had money for food, rent and bills, yet he couldn’t shake the old feeling.

His past was haunting him, beyond his control, as usual. ‘Why can’t I get past it?’ Mike asked himself as he went to sit on the sea wall to watch the waves and think about the present.

 

Back in the pad . . .

Peter found himself recruited by Micky to run some decorating errands, and soon returned to help string the garland along the stair rail and along the banister of the upper floor. Micky added touches of ornament to hang off each swag.

Peter borrowed a ladder from Mr. Babbitt and hung tinsel around the front and back doors and around the bay windows of the stage.

Micky stood in the middle of the pad thinking that something was missing. He snapped his fingers and went back to the boxes. “I know I saw it here somewhere . . . where is the little sucker . . . ” He riffled through a box, then another. “Ah-ha.” He pulled out a sachet and opened it. “Mistletoe. Couldn’t be a bachelor pad without it.” He took it over to Peter to hang near the front door. “Now when we bring in our date, we stop right there and get a quickie.”

Peter hung up the ball and looked down at Micky. “Think Mike will let us get a real tree?”

Micky hadn’t thought about that part yet. He thought about the way Mike had been kind of out of it for the past few days, especially when Christmas was mentioned.

“I’ll ask him Pete. Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be Christmas without one.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks Micky.” Peter was relieved that it wasn’t him who had to ask Mike.

Micky looked at his good friend, who reminded him that the world still had some innocence. Micky never quite understood why Peter was so naive about things, but every once in a while brilliant flashes would come. Yet, if questioned, he would fall back into his dummy routine. They did their best to protect Peter from the worst of the world and from himself. In times like this, it was comforting to have his innocence around.

Davy came in from date number 323 and walked through the pad, noticing the added decorations. As he walked past the couch, he noticed Micky’s stocking that had his name on it and snickered.

“What are you laughing at?” Micky asked.

“It’s your stocking man.” He picked it up and showed it to Micky. It was a felt stocking that was three feet long and a foot wide.

“I got some great memories of that stocking and what Santa brought me so don’t knock it.” Micky defended.

Davy laid it back down and continued to the band stand. “Where’s Mike?”

“Went for a walk on the beach,” Micky answered. “Hey make yourself useful, catch.” Micky threw a can of artificial snow at him.

“What’s this?” Davy asked while reading the casing of the can.

“Artificial snow. Spray it on the windows.”

Davy started to read the directions on the side of the can.

Micky looked to see what Davy was doing, “just point it and spray,” Micky told him.

“Remember the last time you gave me a can of something, it exploded. Let me read the directions first.” Davy read the directions and started to work on the windows or at least the ones he could reach.

Mike returned a few hours later to see that his home had been transformed into a Christmas filled pad. He took a deep breath and tried to act mildly amused.

“What do you think Mike?” Micky asked from behind his drums. He had started practicing after he had finished decorating.

“You’ve out done yourself Mick.” he said, then with a mental groan to himself, ‘Man you out did yourself.’

“Mike? I think we need to add some holiday tunes to our line up. We are playing Christmas parties aren’t we?”

Mike let out a groan. He forgot about that part. “You’re right. Where’s Davy and Peter?”

“Davy had a lunch date with . . . ” thinking about Davy’s latest girl’s name, “Brenda? Linda? Shirnda? I forget.”

“Brenda I believe is her name,” Mike said picking up his guitar and sitting on the bench at the veranda window once more.

“Lunch date with her - said he would be back soon. I told him we needed to work on some songs for the holidays.”

“And Peter?”

“Went over to Mrs. Purdy’s. I think he smelled something coming from her kitchen.”

Mike gave a laugh to that. Peter had developed a homing in on Mrs. Purdy’s kitchen within a month of moving into the pad.

Micky started singing Little Drummer Boy, adding his snare then Mike joinedin with his guitar. In a calm voice, Micky sang: Come they told me Pa rum pum pum pum A new born King to see Pa rum pum pum pum

Mike closed his eyes to listen to Micky sing. When Micky had finished the song he turned to look at Mike and saw that he was in a far away thought, eyes closed.

Once Mike realized that Micky was done he opened his eyes to see Micky staring at him.

“Mike? You okay?”

Mike didn’t answer that question. He evaded by asking, “What songs do you think we should sing?”

Micky was surprised by that question in two ways. First, Mike was evading his question which was unlike him and secondly, Mike was asking him, Micky, what Christmas songs to play. Mike always picked the song list.

Micky decided to talk to Mike later about his far away thoughts and go with the flow for now. So they decided to discuss the songs they should play.

** ** **  
Everyone was home by four, and so they worked on their Christmas list. Mike played his guitar, not taking lead voice on any song. Micky didn’t let that go unnoticed, he knew Mike was conscious of his voice but he did usually sing to give the others a break.

They worked on a list of songs between Davy, Peter and Micky. The German rendition of “Silent Night” sung by Peter, would be the highlight of the party, Micky thought.

It was nine when they finally called it a night of rehearsing.

“How about we call out for pizza?” Mike asked the guys.

“You order and we’ll go get it,” Davy said, looking to Peter.

“Okay.” Mike dialed the memorized number and handed ten dollars to Davy.

“Ten minutes,” he announced as he hung up the phone.

“We won’t dally,” Davy told him.

“That’s what you said last time.”

The two took off for the pizza place, only two blocks away.

Micky went to the kitchen to fix something to drink, while Mike went to clean off the table and get some paper towels to set it.

Micky turned to lean against the counter. “You don’t like Christmas,” Micky told him.

Mike looked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“You didn’t help decorate and you shied away from taking any songs in the Christmas line up. In fact, you let me take care of anything dealing with Christmas.”

Mike thought about how to take care of the situation. “Let’s say it’s not an easy holiday for me to handle.”

“Why’s that?” Micky asked. He was trying to understand why his friend was shying away from the feeling of having fun and spirit.

Mike sat down at the table. Micky followed, sitting opposite him. “Mom never had much money and the holidays made it even worse. I never really got to enjoy them. We never could buy things to decorate with or buy many gifts. I always resented Christmas.”

“Sorry Mike, I never realized that it was that rough.”

Mike laughed. “I was thinking while I was sitting on the rocks - I was thinking about each of our backgrounds. I did have it the roughest but it’s not an excuse - It’s just the way things were.”

“It’s not just a bad thing, Christmas, you know. Friends learn more about each other. I know Davy is feeling homesick. And Peter, he’s dreaming of snow already for Christmas.”

“In California? At the beach?”

“He’s from the east. Snow was the thing there.”

Mike shook his head. “What about you?”

“I’m near home and doing something I like and found some groovy new friends.” Micky laughed. “Peter asked if we can get a tree.”

Mike looked at Micky. “Sure.”

“I think you should take him and find a tree for us.”

Mike realized what Micky was doing, “Pairing the father with the son?”

“If the shoe fits, wear it. Let him teach you a few things. Christmas is for kids, and kids hearts.”

Mike kept his sulking to himself over the next few days. Micky tried to tone it down about the holidays when Mike was around. Peter kept quiet around Mike, not wanting to disturb him. Davy seemed oblivious in what was going on around him, dealing with his own problems.

Davy had received a Christmas card from his family. It had been some time since he had been home and the holidays usually made him feel homesick. Davy had sent a card and added a few pictures that Micky had taken of him while testing out his camera.

Davy found himself sitting at the bay windows of the veranda, day dreaming: he was in a sitting room at his grandfather’s estate, enjoying the family stories before a fire and the glowing Christmas tree.

He hadn’t noticed Mike walk in the front door with that days mail in hand. Mike was scowling, as he went through the mail, Doctor’s bill for Micky’s fall last month, car insurance, overdue notice for the payment on the amp they bought two months ago, then there were a few Christmas cards, two for Peter from Connecticut, one for Micky, and three for Davy.

Mike laid the cards down on the phone table and put the bills in the bill box. He would pay them after they did a few gigs.

Mike saw Davy staring out the window; he walked over to him and cleared his throat.

Davy gave a startle and looked up at the tall Texan.

“Want to talk about it?” Mike asked. He sat down opposite Davy, bringing his lanky legs up to cross them at the ankles on the common seat.

“Nothing much to it really,” Davy looked down.

“I noticed you moping around the last few days.” Mike told him. After Micky had told him that Davy was homesick he had kept an eye out for him.

“Its Christmas time, and I know what home looks like this time of year. It just gets me sometimes, that’s all.” Davy sighed, looking out the window once more. Here he was, far away from home, and looking out onto the Pacific Ocean, wishing it was cold, and dreary just like being home in England.

“What do you miss most?” Mike asked.

Davy thought for a moment. “I guess the family feeling. Everyone just happy being together.”

Mike thought if Davy would give them half a chance it might work here. Micky was trying to show that to him. “You miss the warmness?”

Davy nodded, “That’s it.”

“Give us a chance Davy,” Mike told him. “I have a feeling by Christmas we will overcome all our hang ups,” Mike told him.

Davy looked at him, “I get this way every year since being over here. It’ll pass.”

“But we can help. At least, that’s what Micky keeps telling me. You’re lucky Davy,” Mike remarked.

“How’s that?”

“You have those feelings to remember - you have good memories.” Davy gave Mike a look like he had two heads. “My Christmas’s weren’t that much.” He looked around the pad, “This is the most decorations in a place I’ve ever had.”

Davy looked at the room, looking at the Christmas decorations that Micky had put up. Mike rarely said anything about his past. They guessed that he had a rather poor existence to say the least.

“I had no idea,” Davy remarked.

“It’s okay.” Mike sat back, drawing his knees up to get comfortable. “What we have here is better than some have it Davy.”

“After moving in with my Grandfather, I spent my first Christmas totally miserable. Stayed in my room, mad at the world.”

“Well it looks like you came out.”

“After some time I realized that there was a life out there that I couldn’t hide from. Sure it wasn’t the same but there are changes.”

‘Changes’ Mike thought of the word.

Davy could see Mike thinking of the word. “Mike, don’t be afraid of changes.”

“What do you mean Davy?”

“Let yourself enjoy Christmas. You may have had hard times in the past but look at you now. You got a band together and we’re doing okay. You got a roof over your head and you have friends. That’s a big change for you.”

“I don’t know what to say or do. I always stayed clear of this. I didn’t sing carols, nor did I find myself gushing over long lost relatives. They tended to keep us forgotten.”

“Just let it happen Mike. If you want to think about Christmas, hang around Peter.”

“Micky said the same thing.”

“He’s a kid at heart, and who better to learn from.”

** **  
The Monkees came back from their second gig of the holiday season. Mike was starting to get in the ‘spirit’ of things and he actually sang lead on a few songs when Micky’s voice started cracking from overuse.

On the way home, Mike asked Peter if he had any plans for the morning.

“I have nothing going on. Why?” He was still keeping his distance from Mike. He knew Mike was a bit moody about things and didn’t want to cause any strife.

Mike knew Peter felt his own moodiness and wanted to get passed it. Micky had been keeping him informed about how Davy and Peter were doing. Davy had eased up since talking to Mike. Micky had mentioned while loading the car that Peter was keeping to himself way too much.

“Why’s that?” Mike asked.

“You,” Micky told him point blank.

“Why?”

“You’re still sulking a bit around the pad about the holidays. He thinks it is better to keep to himself in his room.”

Mike looked at Micky; he was giving him the information to do something with. “I’ll take care of it Mick.”

“Thought you would.”

On the drive home, Mike thought of a way to talk to Peter. “Thought you may want to go with me to get a tree and some decorations for it.”

Peter did a double take on that, “You want to get a tree?” he asked in a clear voice. “Think you want to go?” Knowing full well, Peter wanted to.

“Sure.”

** ** **

Peter was so anxious about going to get a tree that he woke early. He showered and dressed in less that fifteen minutes and went out into the kitchen to start the coffee, so it would be ready for Mike when he came downstairs.

Peter heard the alarm go off upstairs. He smiled at himself, proud that he had gotten up early to make sure Mike was in a good mood.

Peter fixed himself a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk. He sat down at the table thinking about Christmas’s past. He remembered the thrill of decorating the house, going out to find the perfect tree and decorating the it that night. But the nights . . . the parties that his parents went to . . . the drinking. The times his father would return home drunk. The nights were hard. Peter hadn’t been able to escape. His father had cornered him and took his open hand to his face. Peter didn’t know what he had done.

With the memory so livid to him, Peter swiped his hand across the table, knocking his bowl and glass with a thunderous crash to the floor. “No,” Peter screamed. Peter laid his head on his folded arms sobbing, “Never again.” The warring emotions quickly surfacing. His Father had hurt him and he didn’t know why.

Mike was starting down the stairs when he saw Peter swipe the bowl and glass off the table. He had never seen such a display of anger from Peter.

“Never again” Peter repeated, sobbing into his arms.

Both Davy and Micky came to their doors to see what the problem was. Mike signaled them back to their rooms. He moved down the stairs to stand before the table to look at his sobbing friend.

“Peter?” Mike asked quietly, but then had to get louder in his Papa Nez voice. “Peter!”

Peter looked up to see Mike standing before him. He realized then that his secret could no longer be his own.

Mike fixed them both a cup of coffee and handed Peter his handkerchief. Peter blew his nose loudly and dried his eyes, while Mike sat down opposite him at the table ready to listen to what Peter had to say.

Micky had gone back in his room to put on his robe and sat quietly at the top of the stairs to listen.

“I was seventeen, a senior in high school. I was shy but I had a few friends.” He held the warm cup on the table, staring at it. “It was Christmas time. Something changed. My Father started drinking heavily. I stayed in my room playing my music. He came in and cornered me. He hit me.” The sound of astonishment still in his voice, each time he relived that night. “I don’t know why but he did. I did my best to keep away from him till I graduated from high school. I kept my grades up and tried not to cause any problems though I got punished a few more times.

“The day after graduation while Father was at work I packed a duffle bag and took my guitar and banjo and headed to the Village where I knew some people. I haven’t spoken to him since that morning when he left for work.”

Mike listened carefully Peter’s voice. It wasn’t their Peter, it was a serious Peter that they didn’t know and Mike finally understood that the Peter they knew was a cover for the real Peter that was scared.

Micky felt for Peter, too. He had no idea what Peter had gone through.

“Peter?” With wide red eyes from crying he looked at Mike. “You know you’re safe here.” He nodded his head. “You’re scared of me aren’t you?”

“A little.” Peter admitted.

“I wouldn’t do anything intentional to hurt you.”

“I know. But you have your moodiness.”

‘Spoken out of the mouth of babes.’ Mike thought. “Peter. We all have our moments. Christmas isn’t exactly my holiday.”

“Which one is then?”

“Fourth of July. I love the bang.” Mike smiled at him.

Peter gave a chuckle. “Peter, remember that we are all here for you. I know it’s tough thinking you’re the only one, but you aren’t alone. I didn’t have a dad around. Micky’s father passed away and Davy’s parents have been gone for sometime too. You gotta know your father. Maybe something happened that he had no control over. You did what you had to do. I’m sorry you had to live through that.”

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I’m sorry too. I never could understand why he hurt me.”

Mike nodded in understanding and sipped his coffee. After a few minutes, he brought them back to the present. “That was then. I think now we need to clean up that floor before someone gets hurt then get a move on to find a Christmas tree for the pad.”

Above on the stairs . . .

Micky had gone back in his room. He had no idea that Peter had gone through that with his father. No wonder when someone raised a fist or hand, he would flinch back quicker than anyone.

Micky thought back to his own father. They had their fights about things but never to that point. Out of the four of them Peter was the only one who had a father living.

‘I know what your present will be Peter.’ Micky thought to himself. He got up and dressed to go to his mother’s to make a few phone calls.

 

** ** **

Mike and Peter returned after finding a tree and shopping at the five and dime. Peter and Mike pulled out the bags of ornaments and supplies to work on the tree with.

Peter picked up his bag and looked over to Mike. “Mike?”

“Yeah Pete?”

“Thanks.”

There was a lot to that thanks. They had talked about different things. Mike hadn’t really taken the time to talk to him. Mike knew he had been on his own for sometime but not at eighteen. He talked about living in New York. Peter told him about some of the pick up jobs he had. He told him stories about when the Beatles were in New York. “Sad day for a folk singer,” he told Mike. How he made his way across the states to California. Mike knew where he was coming from now.

“No problem Peter.”

They headed into the pad. “Anyone home?” Mike called out.

Davy was sitting at the piano dallying on the keys. “Just me.”

Peter looked back through the open door. “Where’s your jeep?”

“Micky had to run an errand to his Mum’s.”

“And you let him take your jeep?”

Davy shrugged. Micky had told him he had to do something and he couldn’t wait for Mike to return with the Monkee Mobile. Davy made him Monkee promise not to scratch or dint or drag his beloved jeep.

Peter and Mike sat their bags on the kitchen table. Mike dug out the tree stand they had bought. “Come and make yourself useful and open this thing up. Peter and I will bring in the tree.”

“Why does everyone tell me to be useful?” Davy asked them while making his way to the kitchen table.

“Maybe because you stand there like an idiot sometimes.” Mike joked with him.

“Just go get the tree will ya’.” Davy told them.

Peter and Mike went to get the tree, while Davy cleared a space on the floor. He was lying there tightening the stand when they struggled through the door with an eight foot tall tree.

“Now where to put it,” Mike told the others.

Micky came in then, “A tree!” he exclaimed.

“Very good Micky, it’s a tree. Now to find a place to put it,” Mike told his curly haired roommate.

“How about to your right?” Mike and Peter picked up the tree and took it to where Micky directed them. Micky looked at it there. “No, that doesn’t work. How bout back there.” he pointed to the corner of the room. Mike and Peter picked up the tree once more. “That doesn’t feel right either.”

“Peter, go where Micky is and Micky, come help me with this tree.”

Peter went to the middle of the room. “Where do you think the tree should go?” Mike asked.

Peter looked around the room. He knew where he would put it. “I know.”

“Where Pete?” Davy asked.

“On the bandstand, in front of the window. That way we can see it on the veranda,” he told them.

Davy and Peter moved the drums to the side while Mike and Micky moved the tree to the center of the window.

“Not a bad idea.” Mike told him.

“Thanks.”

Mike looked to Pete. “Let me guess. You had bay windows at home.”

“How’d you know?” Pete asked.

** **   
That night they decorated the tree with the bought lights and few bought ornaments but they spent the evening making things. Davy showed the guys how to make crackers. Micky popped popcorn to make the garland. Peter made bows out of ribbon that they had bought.

Mike was starting to feel at ease about the holidays. Micky and Davy were right to listen to Peter. Peter had brought himself back from his dark side and acted like a ten-year-old while they went looking at trees. Shopping in the store was another thing. Peter wanted everything. It was Mike’s suggestion that they make things for the tree. “We don’t have to buy things to make it pretty. Part of Christmas is doing it yourself.” Peter thought about it and went to different rows picking up items like ribbon, wire and other items.

So, they spent the evening making decorations and singing.

They went to bed at the same time, Peter and Davy heading to their room on the first floor while Mike and Micky climbed the stairs to their room.

“Feeling better?” Micky asked while he took off his shirt.

Mike had sat down on the bed to shuck his boots. “After that start this morning I’m surprised it went well. But you were right. Listening to Pete made me realize that I can change.”

Micky changed into his pajamas. Mike stood up to take off his clothes. Micky asked Mike, “Do you think that Peter would ever talk to his dad if he at the opportunity?”

Mike was pulling on his top to his pajamas. “I think he would. He misses his dad. I can feel that. But he has no idea on how to establish the path.”

Micky thought that it was okay for what he had done. In a few days, Peter would see his dad for the first time in eight years.

** **

Mrs. Dolenz parked her car behind the Monkee Mobile. “What is that thing?” the man with her asked.

Mrs. Dolenz chuckled. “That is the Monkee Mobile. It’s a GTO the boys found in a junk yard. Mike and my son Micky fixed her up.”

The man got out of the car and walked over to the car and looked in. When he stood, Mrs. Dolenz could see much of Peter in his face.

They heard a count of a drum and started hearing “You Told Me” sounding through the apartment door.

“What’s that racket?” he asked.

“The boys are practicing.” She smiled. They heard the banjo solo then they all stopped. “Mike is being the task master again,” she tsk’ed. The guys started again from the beginning on the song.  
“Shall we go in and listen?” She led Mr. Thorkelson to the door and opened it. She led him into the apartment to see the boys on the band stand practicing. Peter had his back to the door, watching Mike and Micky for the beat.

Micky nodded slightly to his mom. They continued to play through the song.

Mike nodded to Micky. Micky had told him that morning what was going to happen. At the end of the song Mike suggested another song to the group. “Hey Pete, let’s do a run through on Shades of Gray?”

Peter put down his banjo and sat down at the piano. Davy moved to sing beside him. Peter started playing the intro to Shades of Gray and sang with Davy.

Once they ran through it, Mike remarked to Peter. “Sounded good Pete.”

Peter smiled and then went to work on the keys, playing a classical piece that he had loved from childhood. He would play it every day till his parents begged him to give them a reprieve.

Mr. Thorkelson had forgotten about hearing the song every day.

Peter was totally self absorbed in his playing. The guys knew that he was gone into his little world for the next five minutes. They got up and headed over to Mom and Mr. Thorkelson.

“This is Mike, Micky, my son, and that is Davy.” Mrs. Dolenz introduced Peter’s roommates.

“Nice to meet you,” Davy said.

“Glad you could come out here,” Micky told him.

“I see my son hasn’t changed much, especially when it comes to that song. He played that day in and day out.”

“He would here too but we told him he could only play it after we get our rehearsals done.” Mike told him.

Peter finished up and looked up to see that everyone left him at the band stand. “Where did everyone go?” He turned to see them standing with Micky’s mom and his father.

“Dad?” he asked.

“Hello Peter.”

Peter stood, being somewhat self conscious. He looked down to see what he wore. He had on a good pair of jeans and the red band shirt with a few love beads. Peter thought that he would pass inspection. He walked down to the guys.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“Micky here gave me a call,” his father explained. “I think we need to have a talk.”

Peter felt uneasy. Mike could sense that from his friend. “We’ll go out onto the veranda. If you need us, we’ll be close by,” he told Peter.

Peter looked from them to the veranda and back. He nodded to Mike. They left Peter and Mr. Thorkelson to the talk.

“Have a seat.” Peter offered.

His dad sat down in an overstuffed chair. Peter sat on the couch not far from him.

The awkward silence made the uneasiness worse. “I see you still love that song.”

“I have a feeling for it.” Peter answered.

“I forgot about it till you started playing it - how I used to come home to hearing that being played.” Peter gave a shy look, with his own memories. His father went on to say, “see you still play the banjo.”

“A little, I play bass mostly till we get Davy more at ease with the guitar.”

Mr. Thorkelson looked around the room. “Like it here?” he asked.

“Very much. The guys are great and let me be me.”

“I didn’t do that for you, did I?”

“Dad, you hurt me. Things changed that winter and you hurt me.” Peter said calmly but he wasn’t calm on the inside.

Peter’s father knew that. “I made some bad choices at that time. I didn’t know what I was doing till it was too late. You left without a word. Your mother tried to tell me that I needed help from the start - I didn’t listen. I didn’t think I had a problem, but I did. And I took it out on a lot of people. You especially,” he admitted.

Peter nodded. “You scared me. I couldn’t live like that. I had to leave. I didn’t know how much I could take. I didn’t trust you any more.” Peter looked at his father’s face and then looked away.

Mr. Thorkelson sighed. “I’m sorry Peter. I hurt the people I loved the most and have been paying the price every day since.”

Peter looked down at the floor, unable to look his father in the face.

Mr. Thorkelson stood up. “I’m staying at Mrs. Dolenz’s place for two days. I think you and your friends are coming for dinner.”

Peter nodded.

“I hope you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there. I just need to think for a while.” Peter stood up.

“Thank you Peter.”

Peter gave a half smile and headed out the back door onto the verandah and down the steps.

** ** **

Out on the veranda, Micky sat on the railing looking back at Mike.

“What do you think?” Micky asked.

“We’ll see.”

“Dinner will be at seven. And dress nicely.” Mrs. Dolenz was telling the boys.

“How long is he visiting?” Davy asked.

“Two days, then he has to get home.” Mrs. Dolenz told them.

Mike had watched from the window and he saw Peter look to the floor. ‘Not a good sign,’ Mike told himself.

Mike and the others went back into the pad to talk to Mr. Thorkelson.

Mr. Thorkelson gave a half smile. “At least he didn’t tell me to go to hell.”

“Peter isn’t like that.” Davy told him.

Mr. Thorkelson nodded. “He never really had an enemy in his life, till me,” he said sadly.

“I know he still loves you Mr. Thorkelson, but you rocked his reality and he’s been questioning it ever since.” Mike stated what he knew to be true.

“I know things will never be the same, but I want to at least be able to talk to him on some plane.”

“I can’t answer that, but give him some time to think about it.” Mike answered.

Mrs. Dolenz looked at her watch. “We better get a move on, if I’m going to have dinner done in time. See you boys tonight.”

They said their good byes.

Mike sat at the piano, Micky went to his drums and Davy sat on a stool. “Think he’s okay?” Davy asked.

“He needs to think.” Mike told them. “He never thought he would see his dad again. And now he has to come face to face with his worst fears.”

“What’s that Mike?”

“Is he his father’s son in the truest sense?”

** ** **  
Peter walked along the water’s edge, mindful of the incoming surf. Peter had mixed emotions. He was glad to have seen his Father but there were so many questions.

His Father apologized for hurting him, but it couldn’t erase the memories of the pain.

Finally Peter stopped and started throwing shells back into the ocean.

He didn’t know what to say or feel. He loved his dad on some level but he didn’t trust him. And trust was one of the basic feelings that he had in his heart to have any relationship.

He understood Micky’s reasoning. He was the only one who had a dad left. But not all relationships could be bridged to be pleasant. Micky hadn’t been there to see when his father came into his bedroom.

Peter threw a shell as far as he could.

What scared him the most, was if he did start his relationship with his dad what would he learn. Did he want to learn about his dad now that he was an adult? Could he handle the knowledge of what brought his dad to the point of drinking, to the point of hurting?

Peter spent an hour on the beach walking and throwing things. He returned home. Mike was the only one in the living room. He sat on the couch watching the television.

Peter sat down on the other end of the couch. “Okay?” Mike asked, looking at Peter and seeing the stress in his facial features.

“Got a headache,” he complained. He moved to lay his head in his hands. “I don’t know where to start or where to end this.”

“Just take your time about it Pete. No one says you have to come to a decision while he’s here.”

Peter nodded his head.

Mike looked at his watch and announced, “We need to start getting ready to go over to Mrs. Dolenz.”

Once again Peter nodded. He thought ahead to having dinner with his father for the first time in eight years, he hoped things would go well.

Mike got up and headed up the stairs. Once at the top, he looked back at Peter who hadn’t moved of the couch. He could only hope that things would sort out for him.

** ** **

Mrs. Dolenz was the ultimate hostess. She had baked a ham with the fixings for a large dinner. The boys sat at the table with Micky’s sisters, Mr. Thorkelson and Mrs. Dolenz.

After stuffing themselves with the big dinner they retired to the living room.

“How have the Christmas parties been?” Mrs. Dolenz asked Mike as they settled in the sitting area of the living room.

“We’ve done four so far and have five booked before Christmas and then three between that and New Years. We’ll have rent till April at least.”

“Then you’ll have Valentine’s to play for,” she pointed out.

“This will be the best Christmas I have ever had.” Mike admitted.

Peter shied away from the conversation. He wandered over to the piano, sat down and started playing Christmas songs. Micky’s sister Coco walked over to sit by him and started singing the lyrics to the songs he played. When Peter started playing Silent Night, he sang the German lyrics. Behind him came a tenor voice joined to his baritone voice.

While Peter played the song, memories of another time and place came to him. It had been his mother playing the piano, while he was learning the lyrics in German with his father. They were in Germany where his father was stationed. It had been a class assignment to learn lyrics in German. Peter had picked up German quickly and liked to practice it at every chance. He had his dad help him learn Silent Night. Peter came back to the present at the end of the song; he knew his father was standing behind him.

Peter turned to look up at his Father with mixed emotions. “I don’t understand. You had always been there for me till the end. Why? Why did things change? Did we do something wrong? What caused you to hurt us?” Peter asked with all the questions that had been buzzing in his head all afternoon and evening.

Mr. Thorkelson didn’t want to say it in front of a large audience but Peter had put him in a position where he couldn’t back away. “I did something to hurt your mother and I was drinking trying to avoid it. When you were sixteen, I met a lady and had an affair. Things broke up before Christmas and I started drinking. I didn’t know what the toll was on my family till you left without word. I was in my isolated world, not caring or listening to anyone.”

Peter looked blankly at his Father. He had no idea about the affair.

The guys watched the scene, waiting to see what reaction Peter would have. He was the emotional one of the group so anything could happen.

Mr. Thorkelson continued. “I have been paying the penance of my past. My relationship with your mother is borderline at best. My relationship with you has been lost. I thanked the stars   
when your friend called. I wanted to say I’m sorry so many times.”

Peter took in the information. His father had an affair, hurting his mother. He had to talk to his mom. He didn’t know the man that stood before him. He felt so lost. “What do you want from me?” Pete asked in higher pitched voice.

“Anything you will give me.”

Peter thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, though I preach forgiveness to my friends.” Peter stood up. “I know Micky called you because out of the four of us, I’m the only one with a father. But I don’t know if I can mend this wall.”

Mike stood, as did the others, for the party was over.

Mrs. Dolenz walked with the boys to the front door. Peter looked at her, “Sorry Mrs. Dolenz.”

“Don’t be my boy. “ She hugged Peter to her for a moment. “I’ll pray for you.”

The boys left in the Monkee Mobile, leaving Peter in the back to think.

When they pulled in front of the apartment, the guys got out slowly. They didn’t talk much on the way home. They kept their eye on their friend; so much had been unloaded on him that evening that they didn’t know how he would react. They walked into the pad. Each was concerned for Peter hadn’t said anything to them.

Micky felt responsible for the whole thing. If he hadn’t had called Peter’s father, he wouldn’t be so devastated now. Peter walked over to the band stand and plugged in the tree. He sat on the bench seat and stared at it for some time. The others made themselves busy in the pad. Micky started picking up and cleaning the kitchen, Mike sat at the table going through the bills and Davy sat on the couch looking through magazines.

After some time, Peter went to the piano and started playing. Everyone knew that was his a sign of losing himself. When he first moved in with them, Mike and he had an altercation. He played half the night. It was his way of thinking through something that bothered him.

When they began to tire the other three retired to their beds, knowing it was useless to try to get him to leave the piano.

Mike and Micky readied for bed.

“Mike?” Micky asked.

“Yes Mick?”

“I had no idea,” he started to say.

“It’s not your fault.” Mike told him. “He had to find out sometime. At least he knows what the cause was.”

“But Peter is close to his mom.”

“It’s a lot for him to handle. I’ll talk to him in the morning once he gets his playing done.” Mike told him.

Micky nodded and laid down on his bed. They listened to the notes surrounding them from the piano. They admitted that he played enchanting melodies, like his personality.

** **  
Peter played on for sometime, letting his mind drift with the music. He was filling his time waiting for four o’clock to call his mom. He had to talk to her, to find out if it was true.

He never would have thought his father to cheat on his mother, or the family. If he could, what did that say about himself. Could he do the same?

He wanted to be able to say things to his father; I missed you and I love you. But he couldn’t say them.

As Peter played, the tears came freely down his face.

**

Mike awoke when there was silence in the pad. They had fallen asleep. Mike looked at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. He rose from his bed and found his robe. He would go check on Peter.

From the top of the stairs he could hear Peter below, talking on the phone. Mike sat down where he was and listened to the conversation.

“Mom . . . Dad told me about his . . . affair . . . That’s why he started to drink . . . Why didn’t you tell me? ... Hate him more? I didn’t know if I could have hated him more after he hit me but knowing he cheated on you . . . how can you stay with him? ... You love him? But after what he did? ... I don’t understand.” Peter listened to his mother, saying minimal words for a few minutes. “I don’t know. I have to trust someone to have any relationship and right now I don’t have any trust for him. I would be talking to him based on a lie to myself . . . It’s strange the values that I picked up from dad are the one’s that are causing the most harm to us now . . . I better go get some sleep. I haven’t slept yet. Love you Mom.”

Peter hung up the phone and looked up to see Mike sitting at the top of the stairs. Peter sat down at the kitchen table. Mike descended the stairs and sat across from Peter. It had been almost a week since the last time they sat like this.

“She forgave him because she loves him.” Peter told Mike. “I don’t think I could be that forgiving.”

“A love from a spouse is different from a love of a child.” Mike told him.

“I don’t know if I can make the compromise. I don’t trust him.”

“We’ll stand by you with any decision you make Peter. Micky’s sorry that he called him.”

“It’s okay. You had no idea about everything.” Peter sighed. “I didn’t know about everything.”  
Peter gave a small laugh. “Bet you never would have guessed my life was so complicated.”

“You do keep things under wraps Peter. You have just as much going on as the rest of us.”

Peter gave a yawn. “Need to get some sleep. Then later have Micky take me over to his Mom’s.”

“What are you going to say?”

“Don’t know, but if he came this far, I should talk to him.”

Mike smiled. “Good luck.”

They got up and Peter headed to his bedroom door while Mike went to the stairs. “See you later Pete.”

“Thanks Mike.”

** **   
Peter fell into his bed after changing into sweat pants and a t shirt. He was tired. He picked up his teddy bear and held it close to him, the one thing that hadn’t changed from the perceived past.

** **

 

Peter woke a little after ten and moved to the bathroom to take a shower. He dressed in a pair of tan chinos and a tunic with paisley designs, adding a few love beads with positive force and put on his moccasin shoes. Other than red-rimmed eyes he looked like the Peter that everyone knew.

He came out into the pad looking for Micky.

Mike was on the bandstand working with Micky on a song finding the patterns that they needed. Micky looked up to see Peter dressed.

“Hey Pete.” Micky tried to sound happy trying to get a vibe off Peter.

“Hi Micky.” Peter smiled a bashful smile, the type he gets when he needs a favor. “Can you drive me over to your Mom’s?” he asked.

“Sure, Pete.” He laid down his drum sticks, stood up, and looked at his attire. “Let me go change into some decent clothes. Mom would freak if she knew I still had this old t shirt.”

Peter sat at the piano to wait for Micky.

“How’s the fingers?” Mike asked.

“Sore. It’s been awhile since I played that much.” Peter flexed his fingers, showing that they were a bit swollen from all their playing the night before.

“You’re good.” Mike told him. “What made you go into rock n roll instead of a concert pianist?”

“My heart loves the classics but I can’t sit and practice with the feeling and soul of it unless I’m completely under its spell, and for that to happen I need to discipline myself from everything else. I can’t do that. I like too many things.”

Mike understood that. Between Peter’s folk background from the village and his rock n roll work with them, Peter liked to jam.

Micky came back out of the bedroom dressed in jeans and a blue band shirt. “Better,” he announced. “Mom will let me in the house with this on.”

The guys laughed at him and headed toward the door. Mike stopped at the archway. “Good luck Peter. I hope things work the way you want them.”

Peter smiled and nodded.

** **  
Micky knocked on the door before opening it. “Mom? It’s me and Pete,” he called out.

“In the kitchen boys,” she answered her sons call.

They headed toward the back of the house to see Mrs. Dolenz and Mr. Thorkelson eating lunch.  
Peter’s stomach gave a large growl to the sight and smell of food. He gave a sheepish grin, “missed breakfast,” he explained.

Mrs. Dolenz got up. “Sit down you two. I’ll fix you both a plate.”

Mr. Thorkelson looked to Micky. “Your mother I believe has decided to make sure I leave here ten pounds heavier.”

“She loves being a hostess.”

“We used to entertain when the kids were smaller. It’s part of the business to have dinner parties and such.” She laid the plates before the boys. “Micky learned dance steps from Charlie Chaplin, and to sing from Dean Martin and Rose Mary Clooney.”

“Quite a group of people to know,” Mr. Thorkelson commented.

Mrs. Dolenz sat back down. “Ah, that is the past. Once George passed away, they moved on too.”

Micky and Peter started eating their lunch.

“How long did you play the piano last night, Peter?” Mr. Thorkelson asked his son.

“Till four, till Mom would be awake at home.”

Mr. Thorkelson answered Micky’s facial question. “Whenever Peter was trying to solve a problem, he would play till he was exhausted or had an answer to his question when he was growing up.”

“I’m glad we aren’t the only one’s who you put that through. Though it does have a tendency to put you to sleep quicker.” Micky told Peter.

“How did things go with your mother?” Mr. Thorkelson asked.

“We talked.” Peter said. “And then I thought about it some more after getting some sleep. I want to talk to you. Life is but compromise.”

“Thank you Peter.”

“No, thank the guys for giving me the support.”

 

Christmas Eve . . .

Things worked out for all of them. Presents came from their relatives to put under the tree. Mike gave them each twenty-five dollars to go shopping with for presents to send home and for each other.

Peter sat on the window seat looking out to the setting sun while Mike finished with dinner. Micky had to run an errand to his mom’s and promised to pick up Davy on the way home.

Mike took a towel to clean off his hands and went up to the band stand.

He sat down on a stool, looking at Peter. “Sorry your Christmas got so messed up.” Mike told him.

“It didn’t get messed up Mike. Micky did do me a favor. He got us talking.” Peter looked back out the window. “We’re talking which is better than we were doing before.”

“If you need to talk . . . ”

“I know. You’ll be there to listen. And I appreciate it.”

Mike looked at the tree and the gifts that sat beneath it. “I never thought I would see a tree and that many gifts below it.”

Peter looked back to Mike. “Merry Christmas Mike.”

“I never knew I was missing something. But I’m glad you and the others didn’t give up on me either.”

Micky and Davy came in laughing through the front door. Between them they had ten more gifts to add to the tree.

“Where did those come from?” Mike asked.

“Mom sent some over for us and Davy here had a few well wishers.” Micky answered adding the presents to the pile beneath the tree. “I can’t wait till tomorrow morning.”

Peter noticed one that Micky had put beneath the tree. The wrapping was different from the others. He moved and got on his knees to look at it. The tag read: To Pete, From: Dad.

Micky saw him looking at it. “Mom said that he left that with her before she took him to the airport.”

Peter nodded in understanding.

They sat down at the table and had a dinner feast.

“One thing about the holidays, you eat, a lot.” Micky gushed.

“Don’t come yelling at me when you start popping your buttons.” Davy told him.

Mike got up and Peter started clearing the dishes. Once the dishes were done with Micky’s help they found themselves gravitating to the tree once more.

Micky pulled out his bongos and asked if they wanted to sing. They broke into a rendition of Riu Chiu, a song that Micky had taught them that was popular in California. Once they finished, Mike proposed a question to them. “Shall we start a tradition?”

“Like what?” Davy asked.

“Each person pulls a gift to be opened by someone else.” Mike answered.

“Sounds groovy, can I go first?” Micky asked.

“Why not.”

Micky went to the tree and pulled out the gift to Peter from his dad. He handed it to Peter, and said, “I’m sorry about bringing him out here.”

Peter stood and looked at Micky. “You did me a great favor Mick. We started talking and all the secrets are out. I’m glad of it and thanks for trying to help me, it means you care.” Peter gave Micky a hug.

Peter sat back down on the step and unwrapped the small box. Enclosed was a ring that his father had worn for so long that he couldn’t remember his father being without it. It had been given to him by his father. A note was inside. “Your turn to wear it son.” Peter put it on his finger.

The wall was starting to mend, one stone at a time.


End file.
